


All The New Ways That I Hurt

by fridaysblues (taemin)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3496778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taemin/pseuds/fridaysblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zitao imprints on Sehun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The New Ways That I Hurt

Zitao catches a whiff of the adolescent on the subway. It's subtle, but it's there—smoky, like an extinguished campfire, tinged with the coppery scent of blood that accelerates through his veins, afraid.

So he's alone.

Zitao's not expecting to encounter _any_ of his kind underground, much less an unclaimed male. He reels backwards into some ajumma and knocks over her shopping cart. Groceries scatter everywhere. By the time he retrieves the last orange from underneath the seats the smell is gone.

He makes a mental note— _Yaksu Stop_ —and takes a seat at the end of the car.

 

He's waiting for him next time. Stands near the door. Sees a kid get off three cars down and something kicks in his gut like a bass drum and he just knows somehow. _That's him._

He steps over the gap, falls in step behind him. Sizes him up. Long, gangly limbs. Tall. Shaved head. Dark, solemn eyes that flash gold when he turns and looks at Zitao. Recognition, even though they've never laid eyes on each other before this very moment. Imprinting's a weird feeling, Zitao thinks. Like really, really strong deja vu.

Zitao's never hunted for a mate before. It's so much more intense than hunting prey. He feels itchy, skin on fire, like he's going to spontaneously combust at any moment. Every nerve thrums electric, neon signs pointing at the boy in front of him like they're lighting the way.

He recalls a conversation with Lu Han. _"What if I kill him by mistake? What if I can't tell he's a wolf?"_

_"You'll know. The Wolf inside won't let you."_

The boy stops in the subway's entrance and turns, mouth pressed into a severe line. People filter past them. Some stare curiously; most walk right past. They've got no idea who Zitao is. _What_ he is.

"Don't hurt me," the boy says.

"What's your name?" Zitao asks. His voice comes out rougher than he'd anticipated. Choked up, almost. And then, as an afterthought: "I won't. Just don't run."

"I won't." The boy frowns. "Can I—can I go home first? Get some things?"

"Your _name_ ," Zitao repeats impatiently. "You've got one, right?"

"Sehun. Oh Sehun." Sehun crosses his arms over his chest. "And you?"

"Zitao," says Zitao. "It's nice to meet you." He says _meet_ , but there's this bond—this magnetism. He feels like he's known Sehun for years even though it's been less than ten minutes. And with the way Sehun lets him reach out and hold his hand, he suspects Sehun feels the same.

 

 

Zitao brings Sehun back to the den and Lu Han inspects him, buries his face into Sehun's short-cropped hair and breathes deeply. "Young," he says, looking askance at Zitao, who tries to feign interest in the floor. It's not like he can _help_ who he imprints on, but he's been thinking the same thing ever since Sehun asked about being home in time for dinner. "How long—?"

"Six months," Sehun says. "I was—camping with some friends. Something bit me in the middle of the night.. When I was on my way back from the bathroom."

A few expressions cycle across Lu Han's face: amusement, confusion, concern. Sehun's a fresh werewolf. Green. A mere infant in the grand scheme of things. Lu Han has been around for decades. Zitao, too. Yixing's slightly younger, but not by much. Sehun's the victim of one of the rogue wolves running at the outskirts of the city. They don't belong to a pack and bite indiscriminately. The influx of new wolves in Seoul has been a _problem_ —they're all in danger of being caught.

But that's not Sehun's fault. He's just a kid. Doesn't know any better. Probably hasn't bitten anyone yet, either, judging from the way he shifts uncomfortably, like he's still not quite sure what he _is_ , only that he's different from how he used to be.

Lu Han clears his throat. "The wolf who bit you—"

"I don't know." Sehun covers the shiny pink scar on his wrist. "I've never—I didn't even know anything was wrong until—well."

"Until you changed," Yixing says quietly. "Your parents?"

Sehun shrugs, tries to laugh but it's a little too hard to be genuine. "I think they're just glad they don't have to pay for university," he says, and Zitao covers Sehun's elbow with his hand.

"You don't have to," Zitao thinks, and it's like a telephone connection opens between them when Sehun understands what he means: _you don't have to be brave._

"What else is there?" Sehun asks with his eyes. He's so young. So stupid. Zitao loves him a little bit already.

Lu Han watches between the two of them. "Well then," he says, breaking the silence. "Good. Welcome."

 

 

Sehun's been staying nights at the den for about a week when he turns for the first time in front of everyone. Zitao's been doing this for years and has control over it. Enough deep breathing and concentration and he's able to stop his bones from breaking themselves under his skin until the need arises.

Sehun doesn't know how to give his body permission, doesn't know how to say no, ease himself into the transformation. Instead, he explodes, body ripping at the seams only to put himself back together with hulking shoulders, paws the size of dinner plates. Sharp teeth that gleam yellow when he snaps at Zitao's hesitant fingers. He puts a hole in Zitao's closet and is about to put one in the wall when Zitao kneels over him and pins him to the floor. He lets the furry animal struggle into his chest, lets Sehun bite him over and over again until his arms are a bloody mess, until he settles against the floor and whimpers, almost doglike. His eyes are still golden, pleading, the way they look up at Zitao: _help_ , they say. _Sorry._

Zitao smooths a hand down Sehun's snout, tickles the short hair under his chin. "Good boy," he murmurs. "It's okay."

Sehun laps at Zitao's wounds, flattens his tongue over the teethmarks. When he dozes off, jaw heavy in Zitao's hands, there's no trace of Sehun at all on Zitao's arms—just soft, pink skin. Human. And yet. Not really human at all.

 

The next morning Sehun slinks into breakfast and doesn't make eye contact with anyone. If he were still a wolf, his ears would be flat against his head, contrite, but the effect's there, regardless. There are still flakes of dark brown dried blood at the corners of his mouth—Zitao's. Maybe some of his own, too. He'd bitten his own tongue during the struggle last night.

"You look exhausted," Yixing says as Sehun slumps in a chair at the end of the table and stares blearily across the breakfast spread. "We heard you change last night. I've never heard anyone howl like that before."

"Poor puppy." Lu Han scratches behind Sehun's ears. "Zitao can help you with that. He's very good at maintaining control."

"I don't think I've ever seen Zitao change unless he meant to," Yixing says. "Which isn't very often."

Sehun watches Zitao with renewed interest. Zitao busies himself with his porridge and pretends not to notice that they're talking about him.


End file.
